90 days of Hell(now rebranded as Metro)

So the new stationmasters have stepped in to the boots that Connex left with much fanfare, flashy lights and other such media releases. Much hullabaloo is also being made about the fact that nothing seems to be changing and that a few days in we should nail them to a cross and dancing around with pitchforks.

I’m holding my judgement for now.

The new breed of owners who’s new ‘original’ name is Metro have already started by stomping all over whatever respectability ‘Connex’ had by decrying the lack of service for the trains, the fact that parts are missing and that they are not ‘Connex’.
Now I know, that every media outlet has been banging on about the fact that out of 3000 + members of the company only about 20 people right up the top have moved onto another job at another place (most likely with a good send off with a banquet and all) but I think it needs to be absolutely clear on this.

Trains are identical - Check
Tracks are identical – Check
Staff are still wearing the badly fitting overcoats – Check
Control System is still identical – Check
MX still handed out haphazardly at stations – Check
Occasional spin still sent out by Transport Minister – Check
Transit Authority still informing us that it won’t be fixed overnight –Check

It doesn't seem that different to me personally. But on that last point is where I start to get a little annoyed. We just went out to the world to look for the people who are prepared to offer us the method to turn our ailing system around and they haven’t completed it already?
I don’t care if the infrastructure is so bad we might as well wrap it all up in Gaffer tape or that every train is sticking together entirely based on the belief held by Lynne Kosky in flying pigs but they should be able to fix this thing quick smart. Considering how long and arduous this tender process was I can’ think why we didn’t get a team who promised converting lead into gold, water into wine and bus stops into nightclubs, all in the first night.
I have noticed a few new changes though already, apart from the occasional new executive laughing uproariously from the Metro head office. As one of the new changes is for more information on announcements, I presume Commuters will now get a clipped female reading full romantic history of all trains should any of them need a mental fatigue day. Granted it will tell us what actually happened but it will be dull and boring but wouldn’t it be better to have a droll sarcastic voice yelling out obscenities to help the commuters at least know it annoys the operators and workers just as much them.

Still I’ll give them 90 days(28 Feb 2010) before I properly yell and abuse them. I don’t know why but I would actually like them to get the system working to cover the 600,000 people who travel daily. And if they need it, I’m more than happy to yell obscenities over the loudspeaker instead of the current announcements.

Inspirational Purgatory

So I have been sitting here looking at the many pieces on Mister Fine thinking about a piece or two to post in my mind and nothing seems to be gelling. Despite years of cynicism, coffee, bad travel experiences and other such stuff there seems to be no rhyme or reason why I can’t put down fifteen paragraphs or so without sobbing quietly into my pillow at the third and declaring that whatever talent I had is all over and it will never come back.

I can’t seem to shake this sense of foreboding that after working on the full 32 posts (and one dodgy mobile phone photo) that I can’t seem to get the ideas in my head down on paper. And the ideas seem to be there, from inspirational school television influences, crazy american familys with hot air balloons to the excitement of not paying a cent extra for public transport for the next 2 years (the last one apparently was enough to pay for more ticket inspectors.) but the issue seems to be that I get to a good point, then I lose the moment and stop...right...about...now……..



….so the question is that, while wallowing in a mire of inspirational deficient mud, I should be able to step forward and get enough momentum to move on.


And at this point I want to kick start my muse like a motor scooter without the use of hard or soft drugs. Without resorting the methods such as extreme antarctic polo(with seals) or running off to an ancient emo temple to wear lots of black and talk to no one. I need to get the movement going again with a cheap and practical muse for hire, especially if I want to keep Mister Fine moving at some pace.


And I don't seem to be the only one. I know numerous blogs that start out so well with the updates occuring in such a regimented fashion that the Army feels out of step before tailing off with posts occurring yearly, like the school journals of old.


So my real question to everyone, and it has only taken five paragraphs to get to a point, is on the way we get our muses to work. We seem to be dependant on these little spirits of inspiration so much so that without them, our motivation falls like a brick(I prefer a brick to a stone on this occasion). And the point is that why are we so reliant on our muse?

In reality(at least this one) being subservient to a bodily function seems to be akin to reverting to being a toddler. We get to train our bodies to wait for us to eat, sleep, exercise, go to the toilet and even breath(should you be a pearl diver or sewerage worker) but our creative mind gets to be waited upon like Cleopatra until it feelshappy enough to help us out.

So the answer to all this is either in blaming our parents for only toilet training us as a toddler(which is always a good excuse to a board of directors) or to work out exactly what the muse needs (may be alcohol, hard drugs, maths books or monopoly money) and then withold this until you have a better exchange policy. Blackmail always seems to be a good option, right?

Feasible?

I'm out of other inspirations I think I might just blame the parents.

The allen key of reliance.

I was recently extremely impressed by the ingenuity and ‘can-do’ attitude(one of those wonderful business terms my old work loved using) of a neighbour of mine recently when he decided to paint his own car. Now, I’m not one to normally talk up the virtues of breathing in litres of toxic chemicals, but truth be told, the job he did was equal, if not better, than most jobs completed by a fully fledged paint monkey at a repair center (please not that we do not condone the hiring of monkeys for painting, only for panel beating). My own surprise was initially compounded by the fact that his entire equipment compliment comprised of a herald sun, a couple of cans of black gloss spray paint and a breathing mask. The fact that it cost him the smallest fraction of a fully fledged paint job in both time and monetary value really made me sit up and take notice.

But can this not be transferred to other jobs that do exist. Can we not look at important everyday jobs such as chemical manufacture, children’s entertainment and submarine tester to save our dollars instead of handing over an unused organ to a dodgy organ store to ensure we get our personal submarine tested?

I think that some jobs can be taken away from these niche markets to save our own pennies. Why hire a person to peel grapes and other food items for you when you can do it yourself for a saving of almost 100%. Have you actually looked at your life to see if there are some jobs you can do yourself.

Personally, I think the car wash industry, with its self service bays has led the way for years and I think that most industries should take a leaf out of their books. Can we walk straight into a dentists surgery sit down in the chair and skewer our gums with a drill without hearing about the attendants newest yacht. Can we walk into a farm and grab a milking cow by it’s udders to get a litre or so instead of all this newfangled milking and processing techniques with the added benefit of mocking city slickers for not understanding country life.

Truth be told, this idea is already in evidence. Ikea has been working on this theory for years and they still seem to be getting bigger, despite the fact that every person who has put together an one of their beds has nervously slept for a few years after for fear that they hadn’t put every bolt into the frame and could now be sleeping on a death-trap in darkened pine.

But anyway, I can see this is the way to live my life from now on. I am saying 'no more reliance on useful industry jobs' and more work by my own two hands.
Well, except for the dishes in the sink.
I think washing is just a little too complicated for me.